Enchanted Hunters
by supposed rockstar
Summary: Some are forgotten. Some are immortalized. Some are better than the original. [AUHeavy]
1. His Face is a Map

I'm delving into things. The rating is "T" but it could be more or even less. I won't call the story dark, even if it could be, but if any of you have any literary knowledge, first paragraph is pretty damn telling.

We'll see where we go.  
Bri

* * *

They say whatever happens when you are 14 will stick with you for the rest of your life. After all, Humbert had his fourteenth year and look at how he turned out. Not the most prime example some would say but for my side of the argument, it's spot on. But I had 24, though. At twenty four I was both at the top of my game and at the bottom of the charts, in love and out of it, putting all of the pieces together and searching about for the corners. I was about as mixed up as a man could get but my feelings, they were honest. They were real and they were pure. I might not have said everything that swam thru my head and heart, but what I did say was as honest as you could ever hope for them to be. 

I won't go too deeply into back stories, dear readers, because I feel that you probably know them better than I do and could do a better job at telling them. All I can say is that at 26, my life changed. Jude decided that she was better off with Jaime and they spent millions on a shotgun wedding. I still remember the feel of her satin and lace wedding dress between my dirty fingers as I pleaded with her not to go through with such a joke; she did love _me _more than _him_ and she knew it. She slapped me so hard that if I concentrate, I can still feel the stinging redness on my cheek. She didn't cry and didn't beg with me to stop talking; she walked out the strong and independent Harrison I knew her as and the wedding went according to plans. Four months later, Molly Andrews was born.

It would be more of a debauchery if I said that I was there in the waiting room when she was born or that I received a birth announcement in the mail or, more impersonal still, read about it in the newspaper. As my saving grace, there was none of that. I only knew she existed. Sadie had tried to contact me about the girl soon after her birth but I wasn't interested in the "love child" of my former heart and the bane of my existence.

I was an old man of 41 when my past came back to haunt me. I was in the middle of mundane paperwork in my dimly lit office when the ever bright and cheery receptionist nearly bounced into the room to announce that someone was there to see me. I tried to get out of the meeting, I swear I did, but there would be none of that and before I knew it, a tall, slim girl-angel stood before my desk. As cliché as it will sound, I was captivated. She had a frenzy of sandy brown locks that she kept her hands in and her eyes were as wide as history would allow me to remember; soft, melting grey-hazel. I wouldn't have called her beautiful but she had a charm, an air of amazement that seeped into my very own being. For such a plain little thing, I couldn't keep my eyes off of her.

I didn't know then that the tell-tale low-rise jeans with the frayed cuffs and unraveling holes and an army drab tank would be my undoing. I didn't know that I would place this one much higher than I had her mother. I didn't even know her mother was my old girl in question; not then. Maybe if I'd known, maybe I would have said "no" to listening to her song. Maybe I would have tried to tune her out. I didn't know so I let her in.

"Mr. Quincy," she addressed me so formally. "My name is Molly and, if you don't mind, I want to sing for you. I love to sing, my mother sang, so if you would give me the chance, I'd be really grateful. I love your work."

A part of me thought she meant the work I'd done with The Boys some twenty something years ago and I cringed. Did people really still listen to that stuff? I'd done so much more since then.

"Your producing for Ginger Blue was off the charts." She blushed when I leaned back and half-smiled. "I'm sorry; I'm babbling."

"Molly, sing," I instructed. She nodded sheepishly before taking a nervous walk to the tall bookcase that stood by the window. She tapped the heavy maple side a few times before slipping into a slow, steady beat.

There were no guitars or musical accompaniment, just the soul shattering words that flowed from her plum-tinged lips. I drifted along the soft scratchiness, the bass notes she sunk to on a stream of breathy vowels. I got lost in the simple words of her song. It would have seemed mediocre to a seasoned veteran of the music industry, the guys always looking for the next lyrical Shakespeare, but I found such a mediocrity comforting. There were none of the vocal tricks I came in contact with on a daily basis nor were there huge words to jumble up the meaning behind her message. It touched me, oddly enough. It was so raw, so naked.

She finished and the room was quiet once more. I stared down into the pile of manila envelopes and triplicate documents that lay strewn about my desk. I caught her discomfort with my silence from the corner of my eye, the way she rocked back on her heals expectantly. I was still trying to wrap my brain around what I'd just heard; she clearly wanted to know if she had a shot. I looked up from under my heavy eyelids and genuinely smiled.

"I think," her eyes widened exponentially, "that we definitely have something to work with."

Her face melted into sheer bliss and I could see her restraint in trying not to scream or jump around or something of the sort. I pulled out a clean copy of a demo agreement before standing and walking to where she stood beaming.

"Give this to your parents, let them read over it. If it's okay, bring them in tomorrow afternoon so they can sign it and we'll set you up in a studio."

He brow furrowed, her shoulders dropped. The seemingly never ending happiness dissipated from her face and she stared down at the papers in my hands.

"Mr. Quincy, I… I don't think that I can." She walked away from me and to the chair holding her bag. She slung the overflowing thing over her trim shoulders before turning back to me. My head automatically tilted, noticing what seemed to be heartbreak weighing her down. Heartbreak? It didn't make sense to me either but I'd seen that look and it was the best way I knew of to explain it.

"Why can't you?" She didn't offer an answer and it irritated me. "You come in here and go on and on about me wanting to hear your song and I do and now you're turning me down?" The longer she didn't say anything, the angrier I became. "What kind of game are you playing?"

My head was hurting and I felt desperate. I didn't know why I was so irate, why I was acting so unprofessional. I wanted her in my studio, though. I wanted her to sing for me - _to me - _again.

Finally, she spoke just as she'd sung, low and heavy.

"I'm not playing a game. I just… I came here alone."

"Okay?" She'd come to me alone, that I could understand on some levels, but what about these papers? All she had to do was get these goddamned papers signed. Again, irritation sunk in.

"My parents are back in Toronto. They don't know I'm here. There's no one to sign for me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to waste your time."

So this is where it was going to end? I ran a hand through my hair, something I hadn't done in a long while. I weighed the risks of what I was thinking against the outcome of never hearing that voice again. I sighed heavily before walking over to the end of my desk and pulling a pen from the cup holder. I scribbled my name beside an "x" and handed the pen over to her.

"Sign above me."

She looked nervous, her hands shaking as she took the pen from me.

"Are you sure? You just said…"

"Never mind what I said. If you want this, sign above my name, otherwise have a good day."

As neatly as trembling hands would allow, she signed. I looked down at the name: Molly Andrews. Again, I should have known. I should have been paying attention to the small details but all I could think about were the repercussions of such an act ever getting out. I was sure she wasn't 18 and that the contract was in fact non-binding but no one had to know.

I pushed the paper aside and extended a hand out to her.

"I'll see you tomorrow, 10am, Miss Andrews."

Once again, she smiled another brilliant smile.

"I'll be here. Thanks again, Mr. Quincy."


	2. Vision to None

This is our chapter two. Not as "there" as the previous one but it has it's own purpose. A lot of the grittier things for this story has already been written. It's just a matter of working around them. As you read this, think of Tommy and Jude and the breakdown of the age barrier. Think of that here. It will come in handy.

PS: REVIEW IF YOU WANT MORE.

* * *

There's something about the demo making process that will always hold a special place in my heart. Four lonely tracks can either make or break an artist and I always make it my personal mission to have these four tracks the best things the artist will ever put out. Vocals will be on point and the technical work will be perfected to a science. I know that I can say all of this, knowing it holds absolute truth, when the real deals come through for artists who are great to work with. Sitting in a room with someone for ten hours at a time will clue someone in on how they will act once they get the recording contract and this evaluation, no matter how sneaky or deceitful, is the true test. A person could come out with platinum work but if they are horrible people, they'll never get a deal. It's really that simple.

After my brief encounter with Molly the previous day, I had no doubt in my mind that she'd get signed. There was always the little detail that the signing was left up to me, but no one needed to know that. Something about her drew me in and I couldn't get her off my mind. I wanted to know what she could do.

I'd been working on musical arrangements for the song she'd sang for me when she walked in twenty minutes early. She stood in the doorway shyly, watching me intently as I tweaked a knob here and pushed a lever there. Normally, I'd become unsettled when I appeared to be under the scrutiny of a would-be artist, but unlike most, she didn't fidget or become inpatient with me for not acknowledging her. She merely stood there, watching.

"I was thinking that the beat would be quite lazy with an even lazier piano melody." I looked over my shoulder and she nodded at my suggestions. I went back to the board. "Good morning by the way. You're early."

"I wasn't sure which subway line I was supposed to get on."

"Two blocks from Honoré-Beaugrand, east on the green line."

She tossed her bag beside the worn desk chair next to mine, sitting down and continuing to watch me.

"I'll be sure to remember that. Thanks."

Finally, I stopped messing about with the soundboard and turned to face her.

"You're from Toronto, right?"

There's a strange thing about producing someone. You have to get inside of their head, their lives, and their pasts. It's almost as if you have to know every minute detail about the person at hand for any song to work on any type of level. I never enjoyed the psychologist aspect of producing, but it was a necessary evil, I suppose. Jude was the only person I didn't mind learning about. I'd worked with her for nearly five years and during that time, I thought I'd learned as much as anyone should ever know about someone else. It felt weird knowing I was about to do it again, that I'd end up knowing more.

"Yeah, I live with my mom and dad."

"No brothers or sisters?"

"Nope; Mom only wanted me I guess."

Her fingers played with the ends of her hair mindlessly and I briefly wondered what it felt like. I didn't know where the idea came from and I was mentally chastising myself when Molly looked to become concerned.

"What's wrong, Mr. Quincy?"

"Tommy." I'd lost her with that. "Call me Tommy. Mr. Quincy's too… _something _if we plan on working together. And nothing's wrong, just thinking about things."

"Like what?" It wasn't prying or even nosey in the way that she asked me; it just seemed innocent. That bothered me slightly and I didn't know why. I shook it away, though. I was complicated in my likes and dislikes. There was no telling _why _I felt what I did and I didn't feel like psychoanalyzing myself at that moment.

"How old are you, Molly?" Her eyebrows rose sharply. "And no need to lie either. You've already signed the agreement." I smirked at my own remark. Oh, how it amused me! What webs we were weaving…

"I turned fifteen last week,"

I simply nodded, my notion of her being a minor confirmed and a far off feeling of déjà vu sweeping over me. I turned towards the glass to the booth, motioning towards it.

"We should probably get you in there. We can talk later."

* * *

We'd had a good day. She recorded her song and we laid out plans for other ones we'd tackle another day. I offered to drive her to wherever she was staying but she insisted on hitting the Montreal streets alone. I didn't argue with her and we went our separate ways sometime after five. 

The ride home was mentally exhausting. Never before had a new artist come into my studio and left me feeling so confused about things. All of it seemed too surreal and I kept digging into my memory banks, thinking about my past more and more.

She made me think of Jude.

Was it my subconscious way of warning me for the future I was about to get into? Did I already know something but wasn't letting myself see it? Questions like these floated in and out of my brain rapidly. They seemed so ludicrous, so impossible to comprehend. Molly wasn't Jude; she didn't act like, sound like, or even look like her. She didn't push me or challenge me the way Jude had. For seven hours we'd co-existed without a scene or an argument.

Why was I doing this to myself? I hadn't known her for twenty-four hours and I was already letting her get to me. I knew then as I know now that her ability to get under my skin was probably wrong. What middle-aged man becomes all consumed with a fifteen year old girl?

I resolved then and there that I wouldn't torment myself any longer. I wouldn't follow the same treacherous path I'd gone down 20 years ago and be damned if I let it affect the present.


	3. How It Ends & Begins

Thanks to everyone who's been reading. I can say with some reasonable amount of confidence that this story won't turn into anything you've read to date. Relax; it'll be a good ride.

* * *

My nights turned treacherous; my days turned phantasmic. It was as if I was a zombie, someone who floated in and out of the waking world. I know it sounds like I'm making things up or even being melodramatic but it was that mind bending. I hadn't dreamt of Jude in ten years and every night, some part of our history was painting the back of my eyelids with all of its Technicolor glory. There were flashes of us in the studio or long sequences where I was chasing her down long corridors to only find myself back in my apartment, searching for her in the closet, under my bed, or in one of the useless rooms in my house. They were driving me mad but I couldn't find a remedy for such a malady. I took to staying awake as long as possible. Two days at first, later going on insomnia benders, sometimes making a game out of how many hours I could elude my ghosts.

It was only during those times when I was in the studio with Molly did I find some sort of reprieve. Just as Jude haunted me at night, Molly haunted me during the day. Her juvenescent laughter could fill a small room at the drop of a silly joke and with it came a chance to breathe. I could tell that some time into our stint as artist and producer she became worried about my condition. I went about my normal morning routines - shower, shave, casual button downs with the vintage t-shirts I once wore alone, doppio espresso from the corner coffee shop down the street from my place - but the dark circles under my eyes and the weary expressions I came in with couldn't escape her discerning eye. As much as I had my set habits, she became a new one, her and her question of, "How are you this morning, Tommy?" I couldn't help but smile. I know she really wondered about me and my well-being; I knew she cared.

So when I walked into my office early one Monday and found her sprawled out in one of the chairs, half asleep, I wasn't really surprised. She'd taken to coming in when the other sound techs came in to get started on whatever it is we'd decided the day before. She turned around as the door close behind me, me throwing my coat over an empty chair and her grabbing the loose pieces of paper from my desk.

"Hey," she stood and followed behind me as I took a seat at my desk. "I want you to look over these. I may have something." She thrust the sheets in front of my face, anticipation growing with each second that passed and I didn't offer to take them from her.

"Give me a minute," I groaned.

She gave me a look, walking back to her seat and sitting down, hands over her lean stomach.

"How are you today, Tommy?"

I rubbed my brow and then my jaw, counting the time I'd last seen my bed. I had to have been up for a good four days, maybe longer. After the second day of repeating the same words and concepts over and over in your head to keep yourself awake, you tend to forget when you begin over-analyzing microphone types and how to combine them to form new sounds. I sipped poignantly at my espresso turned to flat ice, sighing.

"Honestly? I'm tired. I should probably be asleep rather than working," As if my body was in step with my words, I yawned, blinking heavily, pushing back the fatigue that was coming at me faster and faster.

"Me too. The place I stay was pretty loud last night. People just wouldn't shut up and by the time they did, it was already 5am. I never went to sleep." She eyed me keenly. "And by the looks of it, neither did you."

I shrugged. "Do I ever sleep? You know," I looked over the desk top, noting all of the random things I was going to have to do on top of working with Molly. "Why don't we work outside of the studio today? I haven't done that in a very long time."

Her face changed from lethargic to excitement at that. "I have an idea about what we can do." She grinned slyly, grabbing her bag from the floor, shoving in her papers, and holding out her hand. I stared at it, tiny and pale, before taking hold. "I promise; it'll be great."

* * *

Nine hours, twenty dollars, and numerous pieces of notebook paper later, we'd effectively hit every stop on the Montreal Metro. When she'd suggested that we go to all of the random subway stations just to ride around and take in the scenes, I thought it was both strange and interesting. The first few stops, I didn't really bother to pay much attention, let alone get into it, but her enthusiasm for the different stops' architecture and artwork began to wear down my reserves. Soon, I was the one pointing to quirky things here and there. For the time, I forgot about my dreams of Jude and the fact that I hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks.

Stepping onto the platform of her last stop before parting ways seemed bittersweet. I wasn't up to going home to battle whatever mental demons decided they wanted to play. I liked having her as a diversion. I draped an arm around Molly's shoulders, leading her to the escalator.

"We should really do that more often. I've never written so much in my life!" She walked around the lobby leisurely before stopping and turning to me. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Tomorrow, definitely. Want me to walk you home?" She looked at the exit, shaking her head.

"No, I think I can make it there alright." Without warning, she hugged me tightly. Caught off guard, I tentatively hugged her back before letting myself relax into it. She pulled away slowly, smiling broadly and walking backwards. "See you tomorrow, Tommy… and get some sleep before then."


	4. From a Council of One

So many bits and pieces of things written for this! Oh, how to put it all together

* * *

Even now, I play and replay that day over and over in my mind. The most common thing - a subway ride - had become something that had to be remembered. I'd ride it just to feel like she was there. And there came the next point - confliction. Was it wrong of me to look at Molly differently after that day? It was like I could physically see myself stepping across some invisible boundary where my fascination for her as an artist became interest in her as a person. She said so many wonderful things and thought in such an abstract way. I feel like such a sentimental fool trying to explain it all to you but to me, it really felt that glorious.

Looking back, I realize that sometimes you get so wrapped up in romanticized notions that you forget about decorum and antagonists and Quiltys. You forget that joy is only accompanied by sorrow and that for all the good you find, there is something to say otherwise. From that point on, I was wearing blinders. I could only see Molly. The world could have fallen down around me but as long as I knew that I could go into the studio and do a hard days work at the boards with her behind the glass, I was fine. Sleep deprivation seems like such a menial thing now that I know how the story panned out. I'm jumping ahead of myself, though, readers. I can't give you the end without you knowing all that happened prior. I feel I must warn you, though; from here on out, the story only gets more erratic.

When I went home that evening, I was prepared to stay up all night, drink coffee, and flip through all 300 channels of infomercials; anything to keep me from going to sleep and confronting something else. I was almost certain that as soon as my head hit the pillow, I'd find myself submersed in a land I never wanted to go back to. I wouldn't do it. I'd gladly trade one torture for another. As time clicked on, the fatigue was becoming too much for me. I fought it through yawns and nods off but I couldn't take it. Trudging to my bed, I was still trying to convince myself that sleep wasn't really necessary.

* * *

The time couldn't have been before seven and as I walked from my office, I finally noticed that I was completely alone in the studio. Few lights burned and the ones that did gave the space the eeriest, most mystical glow. I stood transfixed by those amber orbs before making a complete circle where I was. I was half expecting to see someone - anyone - step out of the shadows but the place was dead. In the midst of my bewilderment, I saw Molly came from the direction of hospitality. Her unruly mane of spun brass seemed to have become even crazier, glittering as I'd never seen it. Again, I found myself awestruck but there were questions at hand and I couldn't allow myself to ponder over lights or hair or anything else.

"Molly, what's going on?"

She shook her head while semi-smiling, backing up slowly, each step getting faster and faster.

"Catch me, Tommy." She turned and started running down the farthest hall of the building. She looked over shoulder mid-sprint. "I _want _you to. Catch me!"

I felt childish for such a game but was compelled to give in to her demands, even if only to find out what the hell was going on. I began to jog and she ran faster. The more I ran, the farther ahead she seemed to get. I was growing frustrated with all of this but I refused to stop; this was now a mission. I kept up my pace and finally got close enough to make a grab at her. I missed and she laughed.

"You can do better than that! What do you really want?" Her words caused me to slow momentarily as I tried to understand what she meant. What did I really want? What kind of a question was that?

I shot my hand out toward her again, this time catching a hold of her wrist. As soon as I felt I had a grip, I slowed down, pulling her closer to me. She crashed into my chest from the left over momentum and I had to hold onto her tightly to keep us from hitting the floor. Trying my best to steady us, I was brought back to reality when her giggling filled my ears. I stared at her puzzled.

"You win."

"I win? What are you talking about?"

She stood silently, staring up at me as I tried to figure all of this out. Chasing, questions, winning; none of this could possibly make sense. In between me analyzing what had just gone down and putting it all together, she slipped out of my hold.

"Just think about it, Tommy. What do you really want?"


	5. The Life That It Turns

I'm working my way to chapter six. It all begins to gather more and more momentum and by the luck of some draw I can have a real story coming together by then.

This won't be a long story, I don't believe. Then again, I guess it depends on how long Molly can keep up her ruse.

PS: I'm giving you freaks TWO chapters. I better get reviews or I'll make you suffer. And after chapter 6, you wouldn't want that, huh?

PPS: I've taken to naming my chapters. If anyone tells me the song, I'll give you muffins.

* * *

The final vocals for the final song; all that was needed after today was a final mixing of everything and Molly and I could call it over. Of course I wasn't ready for it to be over, but with the aforementioned final word on signing, I was sure I'd be seeing a hell of a lot more of her. This was only going to be the beginning of things, I was positive about that. 

Molly took to swiveling back and forth in her chair during playback and I could only call so much of it bored entertainment before my hands grabbed the chair's arms and stopped the incessant movement.

"What's up?" she asked me nonchalantly, fingering a lone tendril before giving it a swift pull and leaning back. "Are we done for today?"

I eyed her keenly, turning down the volume on her song and quirking an eye brow.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to get out of her. Plans?"

She shrugged just as coolly as she'd asked her original question.

"Not really." She stretched out in her seat, unfolding her arms from over her stomach and resting them at odd angles beside her. "What did you do before producing?"

"Hmm?" I'd definitely heard the question but the offhanded way that it came out deemed it worth repeating.

"What did you do before producing? You know, what was life like before you were in the liner notes for a thousand different songs?"

I looked her over, wondering if getting inside of my head was some sort of trick. Just as people lock up wills and deeds and proofs of stocks owned in safety deposit boxes, my past had gone into a box and labeled "DO NOT OPEN". This was Molly, though. She seemed incapable of mind games. If anything, this was seriously genuine inquisitiveness.

"I was in a band."

She seemed almost shocked before going on with her queries.

"How long were you with them?"

"Almost four years. Things happened, mainly my ego, and I decided to try and go at it alone. Never happened so I went into producing."

"You really love music, don't you?"

I smiled warmly, thinking about all of the good times music had given me, not to mention how many times it'd been able to save my ass. Then I thought of the heartache it had brought into my life, things that I would have never have had to go through had it not been for my passion. A failed marriage, the death of a lover, the end of a career in front of the mic and my subsequent disdain for everything that had to do with the spotlight. Then there was everything that happened with Jude. I never would have known the girl if it weren't for music. Music left me with both a fire for living and a sour taste in my mouth.

"I'd call it an even 50/50 split. Music and I have been in a strange love affair over the years."

"Was it worth it?"

The question was almost loaded. I may not have liked having to go through all of the nastiness I did, but arriving to the place I was right then almost made the bitter sacrifices bearable. Gazing at her face, definitely solidified the idea for me.

"I wouldn't make the same decisions, but it was definitely worth it." I sat back in my seat, getting more comfortable for this conversation. "But what about you? What brings to you to Montreal?"

"Summer internship program."

"Internship? You spend all of your time here and this definitely isn't what I'd call an internship."

"Yeah, I kind of skipped that part of the deal. As long as I report back to the agency that I'm doing some kind of work then they don't really ask too many questions." She laughed at the audacity that would be clear to anyone else who heard the story. "It's kind of a bad thing, really. I could pretty much do nothing but scour the streets and take pictures of stuff and as long as I was back in the evening to check in, they'd never know."

I nodded at what she said, the notion that she was there alone with only minimal supervision surprising.

"So you're here alone. How'd you manage to get your parents to agree? And won't they flip if they find out you're skipping out on the program?"

She sighed and I saw annoyance briefly grace her features.

"It wasn't easy. Took almost a solid month of negotiations and pleading with my mom before my aunt stepped in on my behalf. She told her that it would be good for me and that she hadn't been much older herself when she took off on a summer trip to Europe. But, like I said, as long as I get back for the check-in, no one will ever have to know."

This is where I have to step in and say, yet again, that all of the various details I had got over the months should have been adding up for me. Singing mother, traveling aunt, European tour, "Andrews" for a last name; for any sane person, it should have clicked. Even now, I don't know if it was sheer blindness or absolute thoughtlessness. Maybe I was just that stupid.

How was it possible for her and me to share this space, a love for something, and even click on some unspoken level all without delving into personal war stories and heroism? How could we have spoken so plainly and matter-of-factly without jumbling any part in emotionality? If nothing else, this strange ability of ours intrigued me. I for one knew that such a thing was nearly impossible most of the time. Then again, she made me feel comfortable; that was undeniable. I was growing to really like that about her but I had a soft spot for any girl who could understand me in the slightest. Of course, you already know all of this.

"So, Tommy. With all of this time you spend here with me," her hands gestured around the room, "what else is there? A love for senseless guy movies? A stack of decorating magazines? Got a girlfriend or maybe a dog?"

I chuckled under my breath, both amused and apprehensive.

"I prefer action movies or even those supposed-to-be-profound foreign films over guy flicks, there's no decorating magazines just tons of Billboards and Rolling Stones. I'm more of a cat person than a dog person, with one old ginger tabby I named Bananas, and I haven't had a girlfriend in quite a while."

She seemed to latch onto my last answer in devout interest.

"What? No girlfriend? Crazy talk."

"Yep. I think I'm destined to a life of bachelordom."

"Why do you think that?" She leaned forward, silently anticipating my every word.

"My luck isn't good with women is all. The last time I was really serious about someone, I wasn't at my best. By the time I was ready to get over my hang-ups and go for it, she'd moved on and picked someone else."

"That's stupid. I'd never pass you up." It was a slip of the tongue and she didn't catch it. If she did notice, she didn't try to backpedal or cover it up. I had to keep my ego in check, though, lest I revel in the accidental revelation.

"Well, I had a tendency to be a jackass even if in my mind I was doing the right thing. We were too fiery for each other, really. But I still can't believe she went for her geeky best friend over me." I gave her a slight look and I noticed a bit of unease cross her face. That was new to me and as an awkward silence threatened to descend upon us, I decided to reverse the tables. Might as well cross-examine. "And you? Same questions."

"I have a thing for history dramas, I quite enjoy the decorators' mag every now and then, and I have a Jack Russell terrier named Duncan."

"And the last question?"

She bowed her head slightly and I almost thought I saw her blush before her head snapped up and she stared at me confidently.

"No boyfriend, ever, but I've had crushes _here _and there. You know…" She gave me a brief flash of a smile before blindly turning up the music on the control panel. "But let's get back to this. It's getting on past eight and I have to be in by nine to get credit for today's work."

I smiled back at her before turning around toward the board.

"Yeah, yeah. Can't get you discovered."

"Not if you want me to stick around that is."

I sighed inwardly; _the implications…_


	6. Get Enough of the One

And this is where we are; everything that I've told you up until now has all been to arrive at this point in the story. All of the meaningless drivel and the ramblings of an insane man have been given to you so I can share with you what it means to be truly conquered. Readers, I can tell you that I don't know who could claim such conquests but everything was there for the taking.

We come into this momentous scene with my transparent need for perfection and the common feeling of "is it done?" from the music maker. It wasn't that she was growing restless or bored sitting around watching me fiddle with knobs, at least not that I was saw, but I could tell she was anxious about the end product. I was being even more painstakingly meticulous with this particular bout of finalizing seeing as this was the first song she sang for me. It had to be perfect in every way. I could go on and on, but I'll refrain and save you from my nostalgia.

I gave her a sideways glance as I continued to work my mastery to find her staring blankly at the ceiling. She'd gone from watching every move I was making with increased anticipation to riding the hours long ebbs and flows of such an ending game with wordless complacency. Every now and then, I've give her an encouraging word that all was on schedule and going according to plan.

"This will be finished soon, Molly." This was her chance to look at me in her way that conveyed both skepticism and reassured me that she'd wait it out with me. I'm sure I'd said the exact same sentence twenty times in the last three hours.

"Tommy, it's already okay. You've been at this all day. Take a break." And there was that streak of concern that came out when I became too focused.

"And okay isn't good enough for this or you or me. Come on. Let me do what I'm good at and I'll definitely take a break when I figure out why the backing track isn't lining up right with the melody."

She leaned in closer to me and placed her hand on my shoulder, nodding in acquiescence.

"You know… I could definitely make a speech right about now and thank you for all of this."

Still hunched over the board, I turned towards her and smiled as she did the same to me. I had to fight myself not to kill such a sweet, albeit wry, moment she was giving us with a stupid comment straight from the lyrics of a dead legend. I finally rationalized that it was probably best to go along with the aloofness in the atmosphere; play it cool and not say too much.

"No need. I'll take what you just said."

Her hand had slipped from my shoulder and now lay beside mine, keeping our rather close distance. We sat for a minute just letting whatever was around soak into us: the milestone of her demo being finished, yesterday's conversation that still seemed to hang on the walls alongside the sparkling discs that commemorated my accomplishments, the fact that all of this had been some strange twist of fate. I had to groan internally, though. How flowery could one man be?

"Right. I'm going to hospitality. Care for something?"

"Sure."

"What do you want?" She looked at me pointedly, and I felt I'd seen that gleam in her eye some time before. The question seemed to almost render me mute, her gaze intensifying as I remained quiet. Finally speaking, my voice came out a lot softer than I'd meant for it to.

"I don't know yet."

Before I could think anymore or react or even blink, she kissed me. It almost seemed too Vinyl Palace-y to me, the young girl coming onto her much older producer, but unlike I had some 19 years earlier, I didn't sit there frozen in shock. Instead, I gripped her face and kissed her back. I pressed my lips harder against hers, leaning forward in my seat and into her as I took control of her and lost what little control I had over the situation. I should have resisted or even pulled away a few seconds in and explained that this wasn't right, but I didn't. I enjoyed it. I wanted it. I'd thought about it too many times to let the moment slip away.

Finally pulling away from me, her soft skin came out red and splotchy from the lack of air to her lungs. She breathed heavily, as did I, as we both tried to regain some form of composure. She looked down at her shoes, her fingers loosening their grip on the shirt I was wearing.

"I'm…" I'd been waiting on it, the "I'm sorry" she was more than likely about to deliver. I cut her off with a soft kiss to her slightly opened mouth, knowing I wouldn't be able to stand hearing some pathetic excuse wrapped up in an equally unimpressive "I'm sorry".

I kept my face close to hers and I stared at her, searching out her darting eyes. Finally, she looked back at me darkly, unconsciously licking her lips. That small action was enough to drive any sane man crazy. I restrained myself from grabbing her again, kissing her more feverishly than I'd ever kissed anyone. I let go of the impure thoughts clouding my judgment, finally speaking in such a long lapse of time.

"Never tell me you're sorry… especially if you don't mean it." She nodded before getting up and heading out to hospitality, leaving me to let it all soak in.


	7. He's Done With the Air

-1I'm sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter out. When you're Dexxed out of your head, you tend to only want to write crazy shit, not fan fiction. Sorry about that…

It's not all making out with these two, I promise. It's there way, I suppose.

This chapter just kind of went it's own way. It could have been chopped up but I wouldn't have worked; not to me anyway.

I still have some tricks, by the way.

* * *

I kissed her. Or maybe it was her who kissed me. Either way, it happened and while I found myself completely enamored with her afterwards, I became frustrated with myself. I was allowing my mind to consume me. The idea that it was okay to want her was slowly creeping in and taking hold of my rationale, my common sense. This led to me questioning what kind of man I really was. What kind of person could have feelings for someone such as Molly?

I was fighting all of the bad with the good and vice versa. Our quixotic flirtations and thieved touches couldn't be wrong; it was definitely a game we mutually went into together. It was harmless, innocent, pure in its simplest form. Unfortunately, that kiss, no matter how much I enjoyed it, and all that I was feeling and thinking wouldn't be seen as it was by anyone else who had the chance to witness it. Was I really just the hedonistic type who fell into such blatantly physical traps with no regard to other parties? Was I a malicious Humbert after all, preying on the admiration of a girl twenty-six years my junior for some fleeting moment of gratification?

Such thoughts then turned into me putting myself on some sort of psychological stand. I was the prosecutor and defense, judge and jury. In the end, I started to turn to a warped lesson from Freud. Maybe all of this was just transference - Molly was to be my chance do everything right that I'd done wrong with Jude; a new Lo for a new Annabel - but I knew in my heart that wasn't it either. Molly was absolutely nothing like Jude. She was nothing like anyone I'd ever got to know or been with. For everything that I'd seen in others and found fault with, such an attribute couldn't be found in Molly. She was totally and completely _new. _

So there you have it as best as I can put it out there for you. Instead of enjoying the bliss that I'd felt leaving the studio and walking with a new spring in my step, I was caught between being some sort of criminal and trying to figure out where all of this fit in my compartmentalized life. I know this must seem strangely confusing but imagine what it felt like to feign insomnia only to stay up half the night to find some definitive _thing _to call it. Readers, seeing as I can't label such a predicament, I can only hope that you forgive my incoherency.

I vowed after three days of such a melodrama that I'd put it on the back burner and let it be what it was going to be. I wouldn't fight it but I wouldn't charge ahead and expedite the process. Whatever Molly wanted was what I'd give her. It took some restraint on my part not to be the dominate male I was at heart and taking the reigns from her, steering it in whatever direction I felt it should be going in. There would be no pressure, no coercion, nothing. I won't lie to you, though, and say that I wasn't hoping that she'd want it to go a lot further.

* * *

The simplest things can become much more elaborate if you let it. A week-long vacation can turn into a three month trek across foreign terrain to have you reaching into the very depths of your soul, finding nirvana. Catching the last half of a Haydn concerto and hearing the pining from a violin can be the most heartbreaking thing in your life. Buying the wrong magazine can open doors and dialing the wrong phone number can lead to an hour long conversation with a complete stranger. When it all adds up, the easiest things are the most altering.

It was an ordinary, lazy Sunday. Molly and I hadn't really been working as much as joking about and writing stupid limericks about everything you could imagine. It was our thing, really. We worked on Sundays just to do what we'd been doing. We both slipped off to hospitality for water or coffee or something equally replenishing, the swinging door swaying behind us. She bent into the refrigerator for something, pulling back and taking a lean against the black laminate countertop beside me. She gave me a lopsided grin, bowing her head to her chest slightly.

"I thought it would be awkward afterwards, you know?" My head tilted, looking her over as she thought out what she was saying, knowing exactly what she was referring to. She lifted her head and looked at me straight on. "I'm really happy it wasn't."

Her smile grew as she knocked her shoulder into mine, dropping her head once more on a laugh. I smiled back, giving her a nudge in return. She leaned against my arm finally and we settled into an easy type of quiet, each of us staring off into a random direction.

"Next time, I promise won't catch you off guard." My gaze instantly snapped over in her direction. It was moments like these that I damned her cool exterior. She never wavered with her declarations, never showed anxiety when it came to dropping bombs. Sure, she was always the nervous, babbling little thing when it came to asking for something but when you knew her mind was set, she could seem downright icy. She glanced back at me while I continued to stare openly.

I took the gamble and with lightening precision I was in front of her, all of my previous self-control put to the side. Her legs were around my waist as I lifted her onto the edge of the counter. I grabbed at the belt loops of her jeans, wishing for just a second I could pull her totally pull her into me. For once, I was glad for the door that closed off hospitality to the rest of the staff, away from the condemning eyes that would look on with disgust as my mouth ravaged hers. I felt my neurons firing off one after the other but not in such a rapture but with my lingering confusions and questions. What the hell was I thinking?

Every thought dissolved as her hands held onto the sides of my face and she leaned forward into me. Feasting on her neck and collarbones, my hips pushing farther between her legs, she clung to me desperately; her nails raked over the back of my neck. I'm sure we looked primal, two people locked together and feeding off the other's motions so cannibalistically.

Finally, pulling away and panting, my arms wrapped around her back, I just stared at her. She went in for another self-satisfying kiss but I let it land on my cheek, my eyes closing for my own restraint. She gently stroked the hair at my temple, my small graying spot her point of fascination. With a quick peck against the edge of her mouth, I disengaged my limbs from hers, pulling her down from the countertop. I tugged slightly at the bottom of her t-shirt, covering the skin that had become exposed in our moments of abandon and giving back her modesty. I smoothed out the ever frazzled mess of her hair, her hand catching mine on the trip down.

"Will you drop me off tonight?" She gazed at me earnestly, offering only her quiet resolve for her change of heart. With a small nod for yes and another to signal our exit, I let water bottles lay forgotten as we went back to rhymes and laughs.

* * *

We sat talking on the moss green steps of her hostel, all of the people staying there buzzing in and out of the multitude of doors, every once in a while one of them stopping to greet Molly or asking if she'd be joining in on one of the evening planned events. She graciously declined all offers, gingerly pointing me out to her newfound friends.

She leaned over her thighs as she went through story after story about her life back in Toronto and her family. I lounged against the railing, intrigued in some ways by everything she was telling me. For every poignant story about past birthdays and silly anecdotes about the mischief her and her cousins got into, I found myself drawn farther into the little world she was creating.

"My mom? She's absolutely insane." She let go of a small laugh, resting her head on her knee, looking to be in total thought. "My dad isn't really any different, either. They love music more than life and pick play-fights with each other about who was a better guitarist or drummer. They also have this strange obsession with shaping things into letters. I guess they thought it would help me with my ABCs when I was younger but when you only get two letters, you don't really learn much."

I briefly remembered Jude when she'd got back from her first tour and the whole J-shaped pancakes thing. I never really got the appeal.

"Yeah, I knew a girl like that. She had some strange attachment to letter shaped pancakes."

"Oh, God! I've had M-shaped _everything -_ pancakes, waffles, mashed potatoes, peanut butter sandwiches. If my mom and dad could, I'm sure they'd have their house in the

shape of some letter." She laughed lightly again, giving a small sigh. "You know, I really like Toronto. It's a great city - tons of stuff to do - but it's definitely not Montreal." She looked at me pointedly. "I wish I could stay here forever."

My heart skipped a beat when she said that. It made me think of that Queen song, "Who Wants to Live Forever?". I'd played that song mercilessly when I first arrived in Montreal 20-something years ago and once again, it was something else to relive. _Who wants to have forever… Who wants to love forever… _It sat bittersweet in the pit of my stomach, the cool evening breeze picking up as the Fate's emphasis on the moment.

"Forever's our today," I finally announced. Had I known then how true those words would be, I would have held out a little longer for forever. I wouldn't have allowed myself to think that nothing really lasted and kept some amount of hope that her idealism could morph into a perpetual state of realism. There were so many things I wish I'd known or realized or come to terms with before and during my time with Molly but as the saying goes, hindsight is 20/20; the present is always rose tinted.

She seemed content with my cliché use of the song lyric, content with what I could offer. We sat together chatting away idly for a bit longer, nine coming way too fast and today's forever ending with me hugging her and her giving my hand a small squeeze for goodbye. As I pulled away from the building, it was if everything was unwinding, laying in the floorboard of my car beneath the as pedal. I knew I held a trump card and if I had it my way, maybe her staying in Montreal could be reality. I just needed to have her sign yet again on the dotted line and I would have conquered and assimilated the truth into my own version. It never really occurred to me that it wouldn't not turn out the way I was banking on and now, I know that was my undoing.


	8. Not of Gold but of Sin

Has it really been a month? There should only be 4 more chapter left and this journey is over. Sorry Charlie…

* * *

Molly paced. She paced from the window in my cozy office to my desk to the fish tank I'd installed to offer me some sort of animate companionship, a friend besides music. She wrung her hands over and over as she stared down into Alpha's watery world of plastic castles and sea grass, settling into a nervous tracing of his swim patterns. It all looked to be some blurry mess of fidgets and ticks, and while it was all at once maddening, I could only offer her the freedom to do such things as solace. She finally turned to me as a ghost, paled yet bronzed, a swirling, jumbled look of destruction in her eyes.

"My mother is coming to Montreal for a week." Her words were a whirlwind of unspoken questions and simmering anxiety. My stomach tightened at what it could mean but I was still trying to bank on my plan A: legally signing Molly away to this old city, good music, and me. I kept a straight face, trying to remember how I'd remained so cool in my youth and tapping into some of the leftover stoniness.

"When is she supposed to be coming?" I knew I must have sounded squeaky, even to my own ears I sounded like a wounded animal.

"She'll be here Monday." Monday; Monday was six days away and with the lowering of such a sentence, Molly looked to be expecting me to come through and deliver the world.

"Oh." I was such a cop-out son of a bitch. Could I not see that she was dying here? Her mother coming must have been a fate worse than death by the look on her face and all I could do was think of myself and give up a chilling "oh" as the solution to her problem. Could I not at least try to help her?

I sat back slightly on the edge of my desk, extending my opened hand as a whole-hearted invitation. She didn't bother taking it before collapsing into my chest silently, pressing the side of her face into my breast bone. My fingers slid beneath her hair, rubbing slightly the smooth, delicate skin at the nape of her neck, mumbling incoherent words of reassurance to the top of her head. She mumbled something back, neither of us really understanding the other, not really talking to anyone in particular. She squeezed me tightly, turning her head to talk directly into my sternum. There was no break in the flow, no time to breathe as the words spilled so easily from her lips into my very center. She withdrew from my arms and backed away just to look at me, maybe to look at the way her words hit me, to see what a dying man looked like when he's told there's nothing that can save him. Her pulling away was masochistic on its own, but she was so deadpan, so _unfeeling_.

I could feel every intricate twist and turn the blood in my body made as her face screwed itself up in a mask of somber nervousness and twitchy resolve. This girl - I'd let her consume me. Small hands, wide eyes, silken tongue - I'd fantasized that all of it had been mine. With one revelation - one quick, seamless proclamation - she was threatening to take it all back, to tie me down and hold me back from her. Readers, I beg of you; I'm not a bad man. As I told you some time ago, had I known who she really was, maybe I could have talked myself out of all this. I only knew her as Molly. Did I truly deserve the punishment some unnatural force was making her inflict upon me?

I was looming above her, my hands wrapped around her slim biceps, pulling her in closer before I could stop myself, before I could run the hell away. I'm sure I scared her but at the moment, fear was something we'd both have to deal with.

"Did you know Molly? Even before you ever met me, did you know about Jude and me?" I cringed; she cringed; the world cringed when I'd finally verbalized what hadn't been in such a very long time: Jude and me as Jude and me. She barely shook her head and I fought back the urge to shake her into talking. "Give me something besides that."

"I didn't," she choked on her words, "I didn't know. Only after we talked that time."

"Don't lie to me, _girl… _I hate being lied to." I ground my teeth together and squeezed a little too hard on her arms; I could swear my jaw and fingers were breaking. She never winced beneath the pressure but I was close to losing it. Of course, I wasn't mad at _her _but at such a cruel joke this all was.

"Why would I lie?" She screeched and my fingers loosened their hold. Only after I'd fully let go did we both allow ourselves to fall back together, not really sure what we could say preceding our impending doom. I held on as long as I could because I knew that this would be one of the last times I could. I knew she was feeling the same thing.

"If she comes here, she'll take me back to Toronto."

"I know," I whispered sullenly.

"If she comes here, she'll take me away. There'll be no music; there'll be no you. What am I going to do Tommy?"

"I don't know."

"You could talk to her. Tell her I need to stay." I had to admire the fact that she still believed in valiance, that knights existed and that they could come to the rescue for all damsels no matter the situation. Unfortunately, Jude was a dragon like no one had ever slain. For Molly, thought, I'd be willing to offer my own head and face the fire breathing beast even if I knew it wouldn't do either of us any good.

It's strange telling all of this to you now. As I've said, you know the story. Jude was my world for so many years and now I was willing to fight for the chance to essentially make Molly my new Jude; fight mother for daughter. I didn't feel good about myself when I thought about it that way. I was confusing myself. Was I driving the phantom white car or being followed by it? Looking down at the girl pressed against me, I tried to wipe everything out of my mind as I agreed to at least talking to Jude for her - us - for the first time in twenty-five years. I couldn't squelch the nagging voice in my head telling me it was a bad idea, but I knew that all I had to lose - Molly - was more than likely about to be yanked from my grasp anyway. I could really do nothing worse.


	9. Yesterday the Fear

Why yes, I do indeed suck. Do people even read and/or write IS fan fic anymore?

* * *

I continue to plea my case to you, dearest Readers, but I'm almost sure that I can't anymore. I keep saying that I never meant for all of this to happen but I wasn't innocent during those last hours - the end was in sight. I really don't think she saw what was about to happen, that everything was about to come to a screeching halt, but god, I did. And yes, maybe I really am some dirty old man with a complex or two but I couldn't see myself letting go of her that easily. All I think of was telling her to clean out her designated shelf at the hostel and grab her favorite brand of red lipstick because we were hitting the open road and making it a game of counting the number of hotel rooms we could live in. See? I was smarter than that. I went for option two. At least if I got caught the jail time wouldn't be as long. Would she visit me in prison?

Molly was so pretty and tiny beneath me that I almost came to my senses. She never closed her eyes even when I wanted blackness to consume us both. It was comedic the way she whispered into my ear that she was okay, to not worry. I wondered if I could actually kill her, if what I was doing was going to destroy her in some way. Even now, the time is nothing but cut and paste photography. Her transparent joy of following me home, the click of the door shutting, her lovely hands guiding mine to where she wanted them, her thinly veiled amusement when I fumbled with the buckle on her belt - the moments had transformed into small snapshots to be browsed through like those of vacations and birthday parties.

* * *

Maybe I was paying too much attention to detail, but I could never remember my office door squeaking. My secretary peered around the edge as nervously as I felt, looking down to a paper in her hands and trying to avoid whatever eye contact she could. I knew it was only because I'd come in for the first time in a while like a hurricane, ordering everyone to not bother me and that I'd be busy all morning. I felt bad for her, really; the chore of interrupting my self-imposed confinement her responsibility.

"Mr. Quincy, Miss Andrews and, uh, Ms. Harrison is here to see you. Should I tell them to come back?"

I shook my head slightly, giving her the go ahead to send them in. She scurried off only to bring them back way too quickly. I'd wanted to turn away from the door, to give myself some air of secrecy and spring myself on Jude just as Molly had sprung her on me. Maybe it would have bought me a bit of time between shock and anger. I settled on idly sifting through paperwork and trying my best to find the demo contract Molly had signed.

The thud of footsteps brought my attention back to reality and I was finally looking at Jude for the first time in forever, Molly and Jude for the first time ever. The look on Jude's face was as I'd expected but the apologetic glance Molly gave me was something else entirely.

"Mom, this is... my boss." I could see her mind working overtime trying to think of the right words to label me as. Jude looked over her shoulder to her daughter, her eyebrows scrunched together and her jaw setting to stone.

"What is this?" She looked back to me. "Tommy?"

"Hello, Jude." Again, she glanced at Molly.

"Molly, what's going on here?"

"You're supposed to come and visit with the people I have an internship with and..."

"That's me." I stood to take a place on the edge of my desk.

I knew each sentence was a spin in a game of Russian Roulette. I don't think I'd ever seen Molly look scared but standing two feet behind her mother, she looked terrified. I couldn't really blame her. At any moment, I was expecting for Jude to go off. The only thing I knew for certain, though, was that if I could harness her impending rage and place it squarely on me, I would. Jude stared directly at me, her eyes set into a flat line of nothing.

"What does she do her?" I offered her a smile as best as I could.

"She sings."

"I see." Her moves were calculated as she began to pace mercilessly between us. "So you have her in the studio?"

"Yeah. You should..."

"You have _her _in the _studio_."

"She's amazing, Jude." I looked past her and beamed at Molly. Molly face lit up to my words. Readers, regardless of the fact that I had Jude right there, able to watch any and all gestures and movements we both made, I couldn't hide the loving pride I felt. Molly was exponentially wonderful. She was so many things and I felt so much for her. Jude huffed loudly. I finally noticed how she'd stopped and stared back and forth.

"You are sick, Tommy."

All attention was solely back on Jude. Wait, what? I was confused. Yes, I knew what I really meant and maybe so did Molly, but I was trying to talk music. Was I that obvious? I hadn't done anything to give me away. What?

"Mom?"

"I can't believe you. How does your mind work, huh, Tom?"

"Mom, what are you talking about?"

"_Shut up, Molly!_ You're a monster, do you know that? A pathetic, criminal monster. Did you honestly think I could miss that look? I've seen that look."

_That look. _My defenses raised at the implication.

"Give me a break, okay? I meant in the booth"

"Please." She quickly turned on her heel, grabbing at Molly and pushing her forward towards the desk. "Grab whatever stuff you have here. We're leaving."

Molly and I were both stunned. I have to admit that I expected for us to be able to talk this out at least a little bit. Jude jumped straight from accusations to taking Molly away with no middle ground to balance on. I was shaken but not so much Molly.

"What, Mom, no! Tommy's been wonderful. He says I could really go places. Listen to what he has to say and..."

"I am _not _listening to him. What did he do to you?"

"Nothing! I sing. That's all I've done!"

"What has he done, though?" There was no action just the rising decibels and pitches of their voices.

"He's recorded me _singing_!"

"Get your stuff _now, _Molly. We aren't discussing this."

This was a nightmare. Didn't I get to at least find a broken desk drawer lock or have Jude wave my journal in my face? How about me trying to fix her a drink and she'd run out into traffic before I could get back to her with it? No, no, no... This isn't how the story was supposed to pan out. It was supposed to be tragic, I know that, it's how it always works out, but this was rash. This was stupid. This was too much, too fast. Come on. Play along!

There was little for Molly to get together as I shouted at Jude in my head to get with it and do her part for this melodrama. I noticed she gave Alpha a bit of fish food and took my favorite pen from my cup holder. She stood in front of me and I knew she wanted to a final something. God, how I wanted to give that to us both! This wasn't fair. I didn't get to do my part. I looked down at my hands and shook my head, looking up through my lashes, silently telling her as best as I could that I was sorry I couldn't work things out. I let her down and it was killing me.

Molly brushed her hand across my knee on her way towards the door and the iciness that I detested so much was being directed at her mother and for once I truly loved her for it. Jude said nothing as her daughter stepped out into the lobby. I wanted to unleash my wrath on her, knowing that Molly was finally about to leave me.

"What was that, Jude? I was only trying to tell you how good your daughter was!"

"I haven't forgotten who you are, Tommy. You're disgusting. I know you. I know what you are about. There is no way in hell that you're getting her in that studio ever again. Don't you remember? _We _used to be in the studio all of the time."

I ground my teeth together, taking the quick step to loom over her. I hoped that maybe it was possible to intimidate her slightly, get her to back down, to prevail as the victor in this match and Molly would come back. She only gave me a self-satisfying smirk of defiance. How I fucking hated that.

"Is that was this is about? You're still hung up on the past? Get over it!" Maybe I could aim to hurt her ego instead, trivialize what was to the point where she would submit just to think that I would make it mean something. I was stupid and it was low, but she wasn't a former love and lover anymore but an adversary I had to take down.

"This has nothing to do with that! But studios are tight places and you're warped. For all I know..."

"For all you know what?"

"You know exactly what. Luckily for you, there isn't anything concrete but I can tell you now that you will never see her again. You can bank on that."

"You're insane."

"And you're a pedophile. If you try and contact her, I swear to God. Trust me, Tommy..."

She left no room for rebuttal with the slam of the door on her way out. I stood in the middle of my office, torn between breaking everything I could find and breaking down. It was over. The totality was immense. I should have taken option one.


	10. Read the Message

The last chapter. I knew I wanted it to end this way from the beginning. But yeah, something about Puerto Rico or Scotland with the possible epilogue? Little crazy but damn – with all of the literary refs, it isn't too far fetched. Oh, and a possible forgotten chapter posted separately because my girl Mixz loved T&M as much as I did if not more. Haha...

* * *

I went to Molly's hostel the day after the showdown with Jude on the off chance that I would be able to catch either one. I prayed to see Molly, tell her that no matter what, I wouldn't stop checking hotel ledgers for all of the Andrews and Harrison and Haze pseudonyms that I was certain would be used to try and throw me off the trail. I brought with me a couple of copies of her demo in case I ran into her mother, maybe get her to listen to what I was trying to tell her between threats of imprisonment and attacks on my morality. I was told in the most accusing of tones that Molly Andrews was no longer part of the summer internship program by the director and that her party had left the previous evening by the gentlemen behind the check-in desk. Downtrodden and crushed by the news, I pocketed the thin jewel cases I fidgeted with and could almost hear the book of "Molly and Me" closing for good. Pulling the rusty-hinged oak door closed behind me, I ran my hands down the banister of the outside steps and bid a madman's farewell to my girl.

I mailed the two discs the same day and they came back to me two weeks later, Jude's handwriting scrawled across the front: "RETURN TO SENDER". I made sure to take them and everything that screamed Molly and lock them in my safe for history's sake. It took a lot out of me doing it, to shut out the need to keep the songs in repetitive rotation on my mp3 player and still the voice that nagged at me to try and reconsider my initial plan of stealing Molly and running off with her. I was afraid that I was really losing my sanity during that time, that maybe I'd finally cracked. I vowed I wouldn't let it be my downfall, throwing myself back into my work full-force and racking up a hit for Ginger Blue and being featured in one of the celerity rags I never read. Anything was better than thinking and rethinking everything over and over again.

I began this story, readers, after doing the piece for that magazine. They sent me a chatty, overly stylized guy who asked the quintessential interview questions about work and how I felt as an accomplished producer and if there was anything going on in my love life or if I had a special someone. I grit my teeth and smiled and told them things were great, I was both proud and humbled by my experiences, and that no, there was no one I was romantically involved with at the moment except for music. Having lied my way through the whole thing but with Molly constantly on my mind, I felt that I needed to write this for posterity. For all I knew I would write my memoirs in a decade or two and this could end up being one of the many chapters of my life.

It's edging on late and packing up my things for the day, tying up the battery cable for my laptop and gathering all of the loose bits and pieces strewn across my office, I really can't decide how I feel about getting all of this off of my chest. It's strange in an on-the-fence sort of way. I'm never one to publicize my incriminating evidence but I heard something once from one of my childhood therapists that it's better to get it out then keep it in. Of course, I don't take stock in what most people who aren't me say but writing this hasn't been too bad save for my incessant need to assure my non-existent readers – you – that I'm not half bad. Still, catharsis is catharsis regardless of the form.

I can hear the settling quiet descending onto the lobby only being pierced by one of the many artists screaming out that it's time for a coffee run and another all nighter. I wish I had Molly here for an all nighter. She would probably be in the middle of producing her first album and I'd order late dinner of Thai and... whatever. I have accepted that this is yet again something for my past. I'm not okay with it but I have to move on.

Passing the new receptionist I hired's desk, she stops me to tell me that the delivery man had run late and that there's a letter for me labeled "important". I take the square blue envelope and thank her as I make my way out of the building. I scan the streets before putting my computer bag on the ground and tearing off one of the ends. Unfolding the tiny sheet of paper, a small coin falls from between the pages. Picking it up and scanning over the words, I can say without doubt that I know what it's like to die and resurrect simultaneously.

_Dear Tommy,_

_I hope that this reaches you safely. I had to walk across town to another post office because I was afraid that Mom would find me out and take it. Sorry that it's taken so long to get in touch. _

_It's weird here. Mom and Dad talk a lot and I get a lot of questions thrown my way. I saw that you sent the demo to me but Mom just sent it back. I did manage to burn it to my computer before she shipped it off, tho. It's amazing. You did really good. Thank you._

_I know you tried to get Mom to let me stay but it's okay. Maybe it's better for us this way. I don't know._

_I guess I'm really writing to tell you that I miss you. I sent you one of the tokens I saved from that day on the subway. I have another one and I keep it in my wallet. It helps to remind me of you. _

_I hope you know that I love you. It's stupid but I do. You're really great and not at all the bad you say you are. I love you so much. I couldn't have asked for anything better than this summer. _

_I guess I'll end this by saying that I won't be gone forever. As soon as I can, I'll find you. I'll be there. We'll run off or something. Who knows?_

_I don't expect for you to write back and I don't want you too. I'm sure Mom or Dad would get it before I did anyway. I'll write again soon, though. Try not to forget me. We can use the tokens when I get back._

_Love you,_

_Molly_

My Molly loves me. My heart's beating a mile and minute and I can't really think coherently but she loves me and is going to come back. She's even going to write again. It's too much to ask for. Hell, I don't even deserve something like that with someone like her. With her few words, though, I don't have to wonder forever. I'll have her back with me soon enough. I know what that sounds like and if admitting that I feel the exact same way and am truly happy about it makes me a bad person, so be it. This was Molly, after all. And while I didn't mean for anything to happen then, I'll mean every damn thing that happens in the future. Even Humbert didn't get that.


End file.
